Maybe He's No Romeo
by ProblematicHayes
Summary: Willard has that fucking straw cowboy hat on today, the one that shadowed his face in just the right places and I find myself staring. I don't remember what we were talking about, but I don't really care anyway, this is more important all of a sudden. - In which Ren can't ignore the way he feels about Willard anymore and startles our poor little goofball in the process. One-shot.


The minute Willard walked into my life, I figured he'd be temporary, that he'd just disappear in a few weeks, fade back into his group of friends. This goofy little redneck who laughed too much and was quick to anger, he wasn't someone that would keep interest in talking to some kid from the city for long. For once, I was happy to be wrong about something. Willard did stay. In fact, he was more prominent in my life than anyone else in this godforsaken town, much to my surprise. He was how I managed to keep sane between the ridiculous ordinances that seemed to choke up and dry out anything remotely fun or exciting and the constant torment Ariel deemed fit to put me through for kicks. Before long I found that I couldn't imagine a world, a life, that didn't involve him every step of the way.

In time, I found that I was less interested in impressing the preacher's daughter, I didn't care as much about doing the stupid shit she wanted me to just for attention, I was content to let Chuck do that. I found more often than not I'd be making excuses to hang out with Willy on the farm, inviting him back to the mill after hours, even minor repairs on the bug were made more pleasant with his company. Willard was the first person to really see me dance - not the way I had with Ariel in a crowd of strangers, but truly and honestly feel the music and get lost in myself in the mill where no one could complain.

He didn't laugh at me, he just stared, open mouthed and wordless for the first time in the history of ever. I shouldn't have enjoyed that as much as I did. That night was the first time I felt a pull in my gut and the urge to be closer to him, the feeling scared the hell out of me. I ignored it and we sat around drinking for hours, shooting the shit about women and their unpredictability. Even then it was easy to tell Willard knew more about talking than he actually knew about them, but I didn't mention that. For the remainder of the evening I chose to ignore the tension in the air, but it changed things.

From the start I'd always intended to weasel my way into Ariel's world, to make her mine, that had been my goal from the minute we met, but after Willard watched me dance, I just didn't feel it like I had before. She didn't excite me the way she used to, I had more fun with him than I ever could imagine having with her. So, rather than admit to myself that I had a problem, I kissed her and she ate up the attention and I wanted to enjoy it but something felt off. It didn't feel _right._ She invited me to go out somewhere fun, but that meant we'd do more kissing and my stomach twisted at the idea, at the fear that I wouldn't ever like kissing a girl. Instead I'd asked Willard to hang out.

Somehow we ended up at the Yearbook, listening to some bullshit country song I didn't have the heart to change and drinking. Always drinking. I'm pretty sure we had two cases of beer at the start of this journey, now we're down to maybe six cans. Willard has that fucking straw cowboy hat on today, the one that shadowed his face in just the right places and I find myself staring. I don't remember what we were talking about, but I don't really care anyway, this is more important all of a sudden.

"What? S'there somethin' on my face?" Willard's voice slurred, his accent stronger than usual, wiping his cheek and then his mouth in a concerned manner, like there might have been some stray bit of beer foam or food left behind from dinner. I couldn't help but smile, it was just like him to assume something like that instead of the glaringly obvious answer.

He's gorgeous.

My stomach flipped at the unbidden words, they aren't ones used to describe your best friend - especially not Willard. He's lanky and has a long, squat nose, sort of like the ones you see in museums on the faces of Roman men - and it's peppered with this light dusting of freckles that can only be seen right in the setting sun. I frown, trying to find one distinctive feature on the boy in front of me that doesn't lead back to the word gorgeous. There are none. I'm in trouble.

The look on my face must be severe because Willard's mouth has turned down at the corners and he's furrowing his brow like he does when there's a particularly difficult question thrown at him in algebra. I can't stop smiling at him - this goofy son of a bitch has that effect, after all, and suddenly I find myself laughing. Now Willard looks offended. I think I should stop but I break into a fit of giggles. I can't explain myself, I can't make words come out and it looks like Willard might be rearing back to punch me. I'm still laughing. He does. It's right in the shoulder and it stings but Willard's laughing nervously, now, like he wants to understand the joke - wants it not to be at his expense.

"Now what's so dadblasted funny, Ren? I..I just don't get it." He admits, staring back with this expression that's halfway between wounded and incredulous. It makes him look cute. Oops. That's not a good word to use, either. Without thinking, I stand up and walk towards the flustered country boy - Willard looks a little wary of me, maybe he thinks I'm a crazy drunk. Maybe I _am_ a crazy drunk. After all, I _am_ considering doing something that could only be described as insane, given the amount of confidence I feel that it won't end in me getting knocked out. Before I can talk myself down from it, like I've done a dozen times before, I take the beer from Willard's hand and put it on the table closest to us, panic suffocating me slowly. With that obstacle out of the way I put both hands on the arms of his chair, trying to look more confident than I feel. I smirk, but I feel like puking.

"Do you trust me, Willy?" I sound drunk, maybe I am. That's okay. My voice is a little breathier than normal and there's fear there, too, any semblance of cockiness is long sobers Willard - he frowns as he looks up and I'm struck dumb. In this light, closer to him than I've ever been, his eyes are a stunning shade of brown. They're the color of coffee and fresh tilled dirt and he smells like both of those things. And beer- always beer. I probably smell like sweat and dust and beer. Willard opens his mouth to talk, making a soft stuttering noise, but his voice would shatter the moment and scare away the sudden courage I've gathered. I don't give him time to respond to me, instead I screw my eyes shut and lean in, holding my breath.

Please don't hate me. Please don't hate me. Please don't- _oh._

Kissing a boy is nothing like I'd imagined. I had expected hard angles and a bad taste, for there to be more things I disliked than I enjoyed. I didn't expect his lips to be so warm, for them to tremble - and sure they're chapped and a little rough, but it feels nice. I didn't expect to like it as much as I do, to feel the tingles that were missing when I'd kissed Ariel. Willard is solid as stone at first, just being kissed, and suddenly there's a ball of fear in my chest, threatening to consume me. I'm already backpedaling.

I start to pull away, ready to laugh and joke about having too many drinks, ready to make excuses. I am dying inside. Suddenly Willard's hand is balled in a fist, the material of my shirt is within it and he's pulling me down. I gasp without meaning to as his lips move hard against mine, fighting to be in control - it makes my knees weak. He kisses the same way he does everything else - it's messy and assertive and raw. But it's everything I love about the boy beneath me with the stupid laugh and the beautiful freckles and as I think it, I am startled by the realization. I love Willard.

Shit.

I finally pull away, trembling all over, and our noses bump roughly. I'm breathing heavily and my arms are wobbling, I'm not sure if this is panic or arousal anymore. Willard is all that stands to keep me from falling to pieces right then and there. One wrong move and I'll crumble to bits. I smile without meaning to, his eyes are no longer wide with confusion. They're glossy, hazed - but most importantly they're full of determination. I let out a soft yelp of surprise when the hand clutching my shirt shoves me away, hard. I manage to stumble a few feet backwards before I catch myself - I panic, sure I'll need to defend myself. Can I do that? Defend myself from Willard? I'm not so sure. I must have read the situation wrong, I think Willard is about to beat me senseless. When he reaches for me I flinch, but he doesn't go for my head or arms, instead he deftly shoves his fingers into my belt loops and yanks me forward. I land hard against his chest and find it's a wall of muscle - he's holding me tight in place by the flimsy denim hoops.

"Why'd you do that?" He demands firmly, his face is flushed and he's breathing heavily, I can feel the slightest beginnings of a bulge in the far-too-tight Wranglers he's wearing. I'm glad it's those particular pants, they're my favorite on him. I swallow hard and look up, my hands are on Willard's chest now and I feel the strong urge to kiss the scars on his chin; to press my lips to the one on his throat; I want to kiss him everywhere. I'd like to see if he has freckles in hidden places. Instead I bite down on my lip and shrug. Apparently that's not going to satisfy his curiosity, he doesn't let me go. I don't want him to. He moves one hand away from my waist, out of my belt loop, and catches my chin between his thumb and forefinger. He squeezes it as gently as a guy like Willard is capable of - which is surprising, and forces my head up. He wants me to look at him instead of staring at his collar bones. "Why'd ya kiss me, Ren? Is this another one'a your damn jokes, city boy?" He squeezes my jaw a little harder as though to make a point. "You bullshittin' me again?"

For a second I remain defiant, I stare off to the side at the walls covered in words the town would be livid to read. I'm afraid, I don't like being afraid. I expect the insults to start, for him to accuse me of the unspeakable crime. I expect my closest friend to leave me. Swallowing hard I finally look up, on top of the many names I can imagine being called, I don't plan to put coward on the list. Willard doesn't look angry, he looks scared, and I'm not sure if that's better or worse. I have to stop that train of thought right then and there, determined to be hopeful. This isn't just any old asshole I'd picked up at Bomont High. This is Willard. This is my best friend, my confidant, he's willing to listen to reason. I hope. I suck in a sharp breath and feel weaker for it, my confidence is ebbing, but I have to explain myself. I have to try. So I stare up into those damned beautiful brown eyes and admit the one thing I've been lying to both of us about for too long.

"I..'cause I wanted to." Those aren't the right words - that's not how I want this to go. That sounded too defensive. I stop, biting my lip hard and force myself to start again, "Because..I like you, alright? I mean, damn it Willard, I _really_ like you - more than Ariel, more than..any girls I've met before and I-" The words die in my throat. Willard's jaw is squeezed tight and he's staring at me with a look I can't quite describe. Is this it? Is this the part where I get my lights knocked out and everyone learns my dirty secret from him? I tense, preparing for the strike, I even close my eyes. I know I can't bring myself to hit back so I'm prepared for the pain. Instead, I'm shocked to feel a pair of warm lips pressed against mine. They're trembling. I smile into the kiss, letting my muscles relax, this is better than being hit. He tastes cold and like beer. I shiver.

I clutch the soft material of Willard's t-shirt, holding on for all I'm worth. This kiss is softer, slower - more like a kiss ought to be. It feels like we're testing one another out, just like any other first go with someone..except that there's no girl here this time. There's just us and the struggle for dominance. I enjoy the feeling of his rough stubble and the way I fit right against him. I'm the small one here, which is new to me, but I'm finding that I love it. Willard deepens the kiss, pulling me tighter against him if that's possible. My head is spinning and I smirk into his mouth, daring to nip gently at his lower lip. He shudders and my world breaks apart; I hear him moan softly as our tongues meet and decide that maybe this isn't perfect. Maybe we'll have to work hard to make whatever is happening between us more than just a kiss in the dark, but in this moment with him still holding my belt loop in one hand and gripping my hip roughly with the other, I'm happy. Happier than I'd have ever thought possible.

I pull back and grin up at him, panting for breath. "What'd ya do that for?" I tease in an attempt at a southern accent - his face is flushed and he's grinning. That's a good sign. He lets go of my belt loops and grabs my hips with both hands, squeezing harder than I imagine he would if I were a girl. I smirk.

"Did it 'cause I wanted to," He mumbles, sounding less confident and more adorable, but it makes me growl low in my throat all the same. "Did..do you really mean that..stuff you said?"If I smile any wider my face will split apart. He sounds like he's waiting for the punchline, but he also sounds hopeful.

"Fuck. Yes, I did, Willy. I meant every damn word of it."

I want to kiss the scar on his throat, so I do. I lean up and brush my lips against the soft, raised line of skin over his adam's apple and he hisses in a sharp breath. His fingers dig into my skin and I imagine there will be bruises there tomorrow, but I don't care. His skin tastes better than I imagined, like salt and sin and everything I've ever wanted, things I never even knew to ask for. I loop my arms under his and rest my palms against his back, dragging kisses from the hollow in his throat to the twin lines on his cheek, gently nibbling the skin there. My teeth find the soft flesh of his earlobe and I bite down softly, rolling my tongue in after to soften the sting. He moans, it echoes around the empty train car and I can't help but grin. I can feel sweat on the back of my neck, covering my scalp, and consider pulling back, but the sounds coming from Willard encourage me to keep going.

"Fuck, cowboy, I should've done this sooner," I breathe in the smell of sweat and alcohol and Willard, it's better than any high dollar cologne. To my surprise his hands drag my hips forward and I have to dig my fingers into his back for support as the angle allows for him to grind into me. I'm seeing stars as I feel his bulge push against my own, all I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears and Willard. His moans; his whimpers; I'm on fire. His name escapes my lips and that seems to drive him on - he backs me up until I'm pushed against one of the walls covered in lyrics and if I didn't know better I'd think he was rocking his hips to the beat of the song still playing behind him. Somehow that makes this more attractive, if that's possible.

Now it's my turn to be a mewling mess, his lips mimic mine from before, dragging over my neck, biting and licking and kissing me into oblivion. I've never felt the kind of pressure that's building inside of me, threatening to melt me from the inside out. Without thinking about it I push him back a few inches and find the hem of my shirt, ripping it over my head and letting it fall where it may. He raises his brows and slowly drags his lower lip into his mouth, eyes dragging down my torso, they stop at the hem of my jeans and I laugh. Honest to god laughter that makes you feel alive and healthy and erases all the bad, he joins in and my heart soars. Part of me wants to cradle his face in my hands and tell him everything I love about him - the other wants to shove him to the floor and explore every inch of him, map out all his scars and secrets. I settle for cupping his cheeks in my hand and kissing him softly. As my back brushes against the rough wall and my fingers are buried in his curls I think I could get used to this. Then he kisses me and I don't think anything.


End file.
